I used to write a lot about these two back when I had all the time in the world. A lot. Lately I've been revisiting some of my older material, including the majority of my Pokemon stuff, and giving them a bit of a tune up. You know, fixing the formatting, revising any juvenile errors, etc. I'm sure there's at least one dedicated reader out there who still follows my material that'll be ecstatic to hear that. These revisions will roll out periodically throughout the week. A couple of them are already available, in fact. At any rate, happy Pokemon Day and big ups to my man Greninja for winning the poll thing or whatever.
Word count: 552 words.
It's Raining Cats and Dogs But Without the Dogs
Galar's pretty nice, she thinks. The people are kind, the atmosphere is inviting, the terrain is gorgeous, and the landmarks are nothing short of breathtaking; to say nothing of the seemingly limitless scenic stretch of wilderness seated at the heart of the region, a diverse resource-rich haven thriving with wildlife and enveloped in the very essence of nature. It's all very grand and majestic, that much she cannot deny—
"Hasn't it been five minutes already? Weathering a pretty ugly storm all by my lonesome over here, just saying. Sure would be swell if I could be nice and dry..."
—unless an erratic shower sweeps the land without so much as a warning. Such a blight might make the region decidedly less majestic in the eyes of a young lady forced to contend with a fool with a few screws loose.
"You're quite ugly yourself, but you don't see me spinning tales about it, do you?"
They have but one umbrella, embellished with the boring eyes of an Espurr staring bleakly into the miserable abyss in the sky. Calem, the oaf that he is, squanders the rest of their savings on outfits somehow tackier than himself. Unable to cope with the aesthetic disconnection between his 'beach cat' Espurr tee and the patently beach-starved Galar, he exchanges his tourist duds for matching Meowstic outfits that he somehow coaxes her into donning with him.
It starts pouring less than an hour later and all they have to show for it is the dictionary definition of a fashion disaster and the revelation that refunds evidently don't exist in the grand, majestic Galar region. With only a single discount umbrella to spare, they (reluctantly on her end) agree to cycle between using it.
"I'm sure you high and dry aristocrats think nothing of us wet, muggy peasants," says Calem, ever haughty and undeterred by her rose's thorns. "But we exist! Can't you find it in your heart to share the wealth, to welcome the tired, poor huddled masses under your parasol?"
"Bite me," Serena huffs. "It's just a little rain. You'll live, and if by some miracle you do not, then oh well. I'll live."
The false feline ears atop Calem's head twitch with vigor. "You don't mean that!" he cries in feigned disbelief. "Also, stop stalling! You know it's time to switch!"
"I certainly wish I could switch you off," she says with a twirl of the umbrella. "Think of the headaches I would save."
The sharp satisfaction of that then and there sting lulls her into a sense of security so false even Calem can see right through it. He thinks, thinks hard, until the dried up Chinchou in his head sparks with a flickering bulb of an idea. With all the charm and subtlety of his costume's namesake, he inches behind her, before encircling her in a hug that utterly soaks her at the cost of shielding them both from the downpour.
"W-what are y-?!" she squeaks, a heavenly sound, her face burning as he brings his lips to her neck. "Aah!"
"Just following orders like a good little psycho cat. What are you so worked up about?" he pulls back. "It's just a little rain."
They hold the umbrella together the rest of the way (a little less reluctantly on her end, maybe).